


angel in disguise | bruce banner x reader [ hopelessness ]

by lando_cal_rice_ian



Series: angel in disguise [1]
Category: Avengers, Marvel, Thor - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lando_cal_rice_ian/pseuds/lando_cal_rice_ian
Summary: fluff and angst - bruce and loki comfort you in moments of hopelessness or anger.





	angel in disguise | bruce banner x reader [ hopelessness ]

**Author's Note:**

> TUMBLR REQUEST: […] May I request Loki and/or Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo version) of how they would comfort you when you were angry or hopeless with hugs and romantic fluffyness (please and thank you)!! […] - tinkerbelldetective

**UNEDITED**

 

Tears stains on his pillow: that was the first sight that dimmed Bruce’s mood.

It had been months since he was last home, too long that he had not seen you. All throughout his mission in Russia, Bruce had dreamt of you, of returning to you, to your arms and to the warmth of your home; dreams he had shared with Nat just that night, as the jet flew back to New York; as the aircraft’s hum lulled him in his state of exhaustion, he whispered to The Widow about your intoxicating scent, the textures of your hair his fingers had memorised, your smile that both crippled and enlivened his soul – of how much he missed you.

Nat had smiled, and responded with a whisper, “No wonder you’ve been so down since you left New York. You left your heart behind. Get back to your angel, Bruce, as fast as you can.”

He was finally back.

And you were not smiling.

Bruce found you curled up in bed, the red flash of your alarm clock a harsh light that accentuated your features, making the forlorn frown at your brow too noticeable. It was as if a dark cloud was hovering over you. The excitement that had bubbled in him during his return fizzled and died; in its place came a wave of apprehension, concern that washed over him. Bruce felt a surge – an instinct to rush to your side, hold you, voice his affections – but he stood rooted, his shyness and caution like lead that weighed his feet down. He could merely stand in the doorway, picking at his sleeve.

He finally spoke. “[Y/N]?” His nerves were clear in his voice.

The creak of the bedroom door had felt like a dream at first; but now, at the sound of his voice, you dared believe he was real. You wanted to call back. You wanted to get up and embrace him, to hold your boyfriend until you could melt into his warmth; wanted to smile, to laugh, be happy.

But you couldn’t. It was as if something was weighing you down, an aching melancholy that had burrowed so deep in you, that you didn’t have even an ounce of energy to fight back.

“Honey,” he called again, “are you all right?”

It took everything in you just to shake your head. The shifting caused rustles, the sound loud enough in the quiet of your bedroom to indicate to Bruce, standing a few feet away, that you had responded.

Bruce hesitated. It came out in a murmur, “Do you want me to stay?”

He didn’t want to leave. God, no; he wanted to be at your side, watch over you until he could see the light return in your eyes. But, if it meant not being around for you to be comfortable, then he would go. He waited anxiously for your answer, and it came, after a long moment, in a nod.

Slowly, each step taken out of caution, he approached you. From this position, he could see half your face, your form curled and the covers pulled high, hands fisted on the pillow. Even when he perched himself on the edge of the bed, your eyes remained closed. The brush of his hand through your hair caused your eyes to flutter, but still, you couldn’t look at him. His hand remained on your head – a gentle, comforting presence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

How could you voice it?

How could you admit your deepest fear… if voiced, would it become truth…?

Dread gnawed on your mind, it paralysed your weeping heart.

You trusted Bruce, so much, with your heart, with your mind, with your very soul and life; but to tell him would only elevate his own worries. But how long could you keep such thoughts silent, no longer suppress it?

He already knew something was wrong. So, you had to be brave, for you, and for Bruce – have courage.

It wavered, your voice soft as if you hoped the words would fade from existence.

“I’m afraid, Bruce.”

His fingers had remembered the textures of your hair, and, now, he reminded himself of them, each strand a touch he had cherished and yearned for during his mission.

He leaned closer, his voice even softer, as he whispered, “Of what?”

Tears welled again. “Of losing you…”

The news reports were harrowing to watch, never ending, dangers so profound they paralysed the world with terror. And, every time, Bruce was there – always, right in the middle of the ruins.

Now the words were flowing, unable to be stopped, much like your tears. “What if something goes wrong one day? What if something happens to you on a mission? What if, what if I never see you again…”

It was a wonder that Bruce could speak when his heart felt crushed. He leaned over, down to kiss your forehead. His lips were gentle, soft where they brushed against your skin, as he murmured, “I’ll be fine, [Y/N]. The Other Guy won’t let me go. I’ll always be here. I’ll always come back to you.”

But—

“What if…?” You don’t? “I feel so helpless. I couldn’t stop it if— I can’t stop you from being a hero. I love you for it. But it terrifies me.”

The thought had never quite taken root in Bruce’s mind before; for a man who had sought an escape, had found each day a struggle to live, a burden to bear, he had not realised just how much he was loved, how much his own life meant to you. He had fought his own battles, faced their repercussions, but had done so on his own. Each win, each loss, a mark on his soul. But, beyond the debris, beyond the fray, there were those who would grieve – there was love… your love for him.

You fought your own battles. While he was gone, you fought past the apprehension, the anxious tears that could drown your spirit; and this battle would never end. Like Bruce’s own, yours was inescapable.

Bruce sat there, as the tears streamed down your cheeks, at a loss for words. He couldn’t die, he thought. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t – for you, he would live.

The taste of salt touched his lips when he kissed your cheek. Then, he kissed the other. Bruce climbed over to the other side – cold in his absence over the months – and pulled the covers over him, his body warm against your back as he held you against him. Each kiss that he pressed against the back of your neck gradually calmed you, until the tears had stopped, and you could breathe without the weight in your chest.

“I’m here, [Y/N].” He reached over and held your hand. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”

Bruce did not let you go, not even when you eventually fell asleep. Tenderly, he stroked your palm. And he promised, even if Hell rained down upon him, he would never let go.


End file.
